Nowhere To Hide
They’re above the law and they’re watching her every move…A compulsively readable thriller, perfect for fans of Mark Billingham and Peter Robinson.The lines between good and bad are indistinguishable…On the North Wales coast two people traffickers are brutally murdered; a drug dealer is mown down in inner-city Stockport and in a remote Pennine cottage a police informant is shot dead. Seemingly random, these murders are the work of one professional hitman.Reluctantly, Marie Donovan takes on another undercover role and finds herself working with DI Jack Brennan, a high-flying detective with a tarnished career. Soon, mistrustful of each other and their superiors, both begin to suspect that they are mere pawns in a complex game of criminal rivalry and police corruption.As Marie struggles to uncover the truth, she realises that nothing is as it seems. With every move, she draws the threat ever closer until ultimately the killer is watching Marie herself. Out on her own, she finds herself with no friends, no-one to trust and nowhere to hide.
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ALEX WALTERS
Nowhere To Hide
AVON
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First published in Great Britain by
HarperCollinsPublishers 2012
Copyright © Michael Walters 2012
Michael Walters asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
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Source ISBN: 9781847562876
Ebook Edition © November 2012 ISBN: 9780007452484
Version: 2015-07-23
As always, to James, Adam and Jonny for their support. And, of course, to Christine who made it all possible.
They were some miles from the port terminal, out on the open road, before Hanlon felt able to relax slightly. ‘Shit,’ he said. ‘I really thought they were on to us back there.’ He was a short wiry man, muscular, with the air of having drunk one too many strong coffees during the journey over.
At first he thought that Mo was asleep. But the older man opened one eye, peering at him from under his trademark trilby hat. ‘You worry too much, man.’
‘Jesus, Mo. We’ve got plenty to worry about.’
Mo opened both eyes and shrugged. ‘I’d say not, wouldn’t you? All gone smooth as clockwork.’ He eased himself back in the passenger seat and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘Not even any noise from back there.’
Hanlon glanced back over his shoulder. The two women were asleep. Partly exhaustion. Mainly the sedatives Mo had fed them as they were leaving the port. Christ, how had he allowed himself to get mixed up in this? Apart from anything else, it seemed so half-fucking-baked. ‘This worth the hassle, then, you reckon?’
Mo’s eyes were half-closed again, the hat slid low across his forehead. ‘What’s that, man?’
‘You think it’s worth it? All this?’
‘Not ours to judge, man. Being paid for it, aren’t you?’
‘Not enough,’ Hanlon said. ‘Like I say, I thought they were on to us back there.’
‘That was nothing. I been through far worse with those bastards. They didn’t suspect a fucking thing. Even with you shaking like a bare-assed Eskimo.’ Mo tried to sound like he was on the sidewalks of Harlem, but his North Wales intonation kept breaking through.
He was right, though, Hanlon thought. The passports had been convincing enough. The Immigration Officers had waved them through with no more than a couple of questions and a glance into the back of the car. He’d been worried that the two women might make a fuss, either on the ferry or when they reached the border. After all, it was their one chance to get free. But they’d played the game, just as Mo had said they would. Maybe because they were scared of Mo. They had plenty of reason to be scared. But Hanlon thought they’d just lost the will to resist. They’d been through too much. There was no future for them other than this.
‘Feels like there should be a better way of doing it,’ Hanlon went on. He just wanted to keep the conversation going to calm his nerve, keep focused for the long drive. Mo looked like he wanted to sleep. ‘Something less risky.’
‘What you suggest, man? Parcel post? Rolling ’em up in a fucking carpet?’ Mo slid the hat fully across his face, a gesture indicating that the conversation was at an end.
He was right about that as well. As long as the women played ball, this was low risk and cheap. Two couples returning from a long weekend in Dublin. Apparently legitimate British passports. Even the ferry tickets had been bought at a discount.
Hanlon was new to this. He didn’t even know how often they carried out these kinds of transactions. Not very, he guessed. They’d have other means of getting the women into the country in the first place. Most probably they arrived legitimately, lured by the prospect of jobs and money. Then, before they knew it, they’d vanished off the grid, exploited by thugs like Mo and the people he worked for.
